The Cost of War
by Nejidragon
Summary: We all know how high the cost of war can be, but sometimes what we gain isn't worth what we have to sacrifice.


This is a super short one-shot that I just couldn't get out of my head at work today. Feel free to steal these ideas and build your own story. That's why I'm posting it. If you DO do something with it, let me know! I wanna see it :3

 **READ THIS! IMPORTANT STORY INFO! ******

The back-story goes like this: The military is at war with another Eastern rebellion army. Roy and some other officers have been captured in a previous battle and are now being held at an enemy Prisoner of War center. We pick up the story just as the military is in the middle of a rescue operation.

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Ed ran down the hall, flinging doors open as he went, rousing prisoners from the small confines of their cells. Most were well enough to exit the building under their own steam, but some were injured and needed to be carried. Ed would wave over an empty-handed soldier to help the injured as he continued his search for Mustang. Armstrong was not far behind, somehow managing to carry three injured prisoners at once. Ed shook his head and wondered how the large man did it.

Ed threw his weight onto the last door in the hall and let out an exclamation as his eyes fell upon an unconscious Roy Mustang. Just as he took a step into the room, he heard three loud shots and three bursts of pain ripping through him. He stumbled forward, then turned and drew a gun in one swift motion, unloading a clip of bullets onto the man who had shot him. There was more commotion outside of the room, and Ed winced as he straightened up. He had a mission to accomplish. He had dealt with worse pain than this. Struggling greatly, he managed to maneuver the tall form of his superior officer onto his shoulders and, knees shaking from the weight and the pain, pushed himself out of the room. Armstrong was ahead of him slightly. Ed pushed his legs to work harder. He was sure that the only thing keeping him upright was his own forward momentum. Though he was no longer as small as he used to be, the combined weight of Mustang and his automail seemed to compress his spine.

_"Almost there!"_ Ed thought desperately as the exit to the building came into view. The trucks were there, waiting, providing cover fire. Armstrong leapt into the nearest truck, Ed right behind him. He hauled Mustang up onto the floor before pulling himself in, momentarily distracted from the pain by the overwhelming sense of relief that they had made it out. The alleviation only lasted a moment, though, and the weight of everything seemed to crush him more than Mustang had. The doors slammed shit and he swayed unsteadily. Suddenly Armstrong was beside him, a hand under each of Ed's arms to hold him steady. Ed found himself clinging to the larger man to stay on his feet, breathing coming in harsh gasps.

Together they moved more toward the front of the truck where there was less commotion. Armstrong lowered them both gently to the floor of the now rumbling truck.

"I need a medic now! You there, he can wait! We need you here!" Armstrong's loud voice boomed. Ed could feel the vibrations in his chest. Someone knelt behind him and began to peel his blood-soaked military uniform jacket from his body. He pulled his arms from the sleeves, wincing, then repeating the process with the button-up undershirt. It hurt. Everything hurt. Armstrong's figure began to waver and slip out of focus. Ed shook his head and everything cleared. He needed to keep his mind sharp.

"Here, hold this to the wound firmly," the medic said to the large man. Ed hissed at the sudden uncomfortable pressure on his injuries. The pain made him feel nauseous. Blood and bile rose in his throat and he ended up vomiting the vile combination all down himself. The sight of the amount of blood that he had just expelled from his body scared him. Not wanting to look at it any more, he glanced to the side. At the very end of the truck, he could just make out Riza and another medic bending over Mustang.

Ed blinked. His eyes felt heavy, itchy and uncomfortable to keep open. His body trembled terribly and he leaned forward, gripping Armstrong for support, trying to stop the spinning sensation he was feeling. He could hear the other man speaking to him, but he couldn't muster the energy to respond. He blinked again and found it harder to pry his eyes back open.

Only slightly aware that things around him were becoming more frantic, he leaned his head on Armstrong's chest and with a sigh, let himself succumb to the heaviness of his eyelids.

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Riza worked steadily over Roy's still body. The man was covered with dried blood and other filth making it incredibly difficult to assess the actual condition the Colonel was in. She and the medic worked to clean him up as best they could, dressing any wounds they came across. It was frustratingly slow work, and she couldn't help wondering why he wasn't waking up.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," the medic said after a time, "It's clear that the Colonel is in stable condition. I think it's best if we move on to help some others." The man spoke quietly and looked around at all of the injured men. Riza looked too. She peered into the faces of men she knew would not live long enough to receive real medical help back at Central. Mentally debating for only a fraction of a second, she reluctantly nodded and gathered what medical supplies she could, moving to a nearby soldier with a gash over his eye. She slowly made her way from soldier to soldier, treating whom she could and comforting those she couldn't. Men and women alike were crying all throughout the truck. Death was heavy on the air. She fought to keep a neutral expression. Panicking now could cause chaos.

Riza knelt by a depressed looking soldier who was slumped over, gazing at his lap. She laid a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was injured. When he didn't respond, she frowned and gave his shoulder a little shake. His head lolled and he didn't blink. Riza gasped and withdrew her hand. He was dead. Biting her lip, she laid him down and closed his eyes. There was nothing else she could do for him.

Further down, she could see the huge form of Armstrong sitting with his back to her, holding something. She furrowed her brow and shuffled closer. She instantly wished she hadn't. Her whole body froze and she felt as if her stomach had disintegrated right out of her abdomen. Armstrong was cradling the still, pale body of Edward Elric, sobbing openly, great tears rolling down his normally cheery cheeks. Her legs gave out from under her and she sank back onto her heels in shock. Her heart plummeted down to the spot her stomach had abandoned. The supplies that she had been holding clattered to the floor.

"Ed…" Tears began to could her vision. Even through the haze, she could make out the sickening rivers of blood that led away from his body. He reached out to touch his hand. There was lingering warmth, but no response to the touch. Riza blinked and felt the tears escape down her face, clearing her vision once more. She moved her gaze up to his face. Ed's eyes were closed and his face relaxed. Blood stained the young alchemists lips.

A heart-wrenching sob broke free form her throat. Armstrong shifted Ed in his arms but refused to lay him down, almost as if letting him go would be admitting that he was gone.

Riza bent forward and pressed her lips to the back of his cool, still hand. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the rest of the world. She couldn't make herself accept that Edward Elric was dead.


End file.
